


Faith and Discipline

by AndyAO3



Category: Diablo (Video Game), Diablo III
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Lyndon being a brat, M/M, Other, Possible smut later on, Slaaaaash, and lyndon is thick, because he is lyndon, definitely violence, hurt/comfort somewhere in there, more focus on the demon hunter and crusader this time around, there is a lot of character there that lyndon just didn't notice
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-27
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-01-26 18:15:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1697849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AndyAO3/pseuds/AndyAO3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Crusade marches on. Even if the path it takes gets a little wonky sometimes due to the world needing to be saved.</p><p>Parallel fic to Vengeance and Prophecy. Now with cover art!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And so it begins

**Author's Note:**

> AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH this has been in my head for so long. I wanna see how far it gets, and if you guys like his perspective. This is totally an experiment to see what his point of view can bring to the story (answer: probably a lot, since Lyndon misses or outright omits details that he sees as unimportant or embarassing). Either way, I really like writing for Han, he's another one of those perceptive characters with an eye for details, except he's quite a bit less self-depricating. 
> 
> That might come from him being in his 30's or so when Li's only about 19, though. Idk. ON WITH THE FIC.

(art by meeeee)

 

The benefits of having a horse that wasn't actually a horse, but in fact a conjured being of light and magic, were numerous. The horse didn't have to be fed, and didn't need to rest. It didn't run the risk of throwing a shoe or breaking a leg on uneven terrain. It could go for as long and far as its rider's strength and stamina could withstand maintaining the spell, which meant that it wouldn't collapse if one decided to, say, keep it going at an all-out gallop for two days straight. Unless its rider did.

Han was slowly beginning to reach that point.

What he had seen in Westmarch was burned into his mind, an image he would never forget. One day he'd been looking for a lead to give his crusade a bit of direction, and the next... he shook his head as if that might clear it, pressing onwards through the chilly foothills on the way to Bastion's Keep.

On his way, there had been villages and towns aplenty; he could have stopped. Could have given himself a break. There were plenty of opportunities. However, he didn't dare take them. Every moment he spent waiting was another moment where more people died _screaming_ , souls ripped from their bodies by faceless, hooded abominations. They were like the angels that the old texts spoke of, except not; there was a distinct _wrongness_ about them, something decidedly _off_ that was felt more than it was seen.

If they had been angels once, then they were angels no longer. Han shuddered to think of them. If anything, they were mockeries of the seraphim of old. The "reaper" moniker he'd heard people giving the monstrosities just before he left was about as accurate as anything, as a shorthand to describe them.

He could not take them on, neither alone nor with the aid of the city guard. Westmarch needed more help than a single crusader could provide.

Westmarch needed _heroes_.

\---

"Lower the drawbridge, damn you!" Han roared against the howling blizzard that had blown in around him, dismounting as he reached the gates of the keep. Whether by the emblem of the Zakarum faith on his tabard or the lupine royal seal of Westmarch on his shield, the guards recognized him as someone to be respected, and let him through wordlessly. It was also possible that they were slightly terrified of a huge, scarred, fully-plated paladin with a heavy spiked flail slung across his back. Sometimes it came in handy to be a hulking behemoth of a man by most standards.

Exhausted as he was, he couldn't allow himself even a moment's respite until his message was delivered, and that was what kept him going as he stormed into the keep.

The snow blew in around and behind him as he finally set foot in the great hall, his breathing ragged. He'd long since numbed to the cold, but the sudden transition to the warm hall was an almost painful contrast that quickly brought feeling back to his extremities and made him uncomfortably sweaty under his thick armor. Forcing himself to ignore it, he turned a corner and almost walked right smack into a man who was nearly as tall as he was, himself.

Judging by the man's attire, he was a smith. His eyes were clear and observant, he had skin like old boot leather, and his hair was the color of sandy mud. "Goin' somewhere, lad?" the smith asked in a thickly accented voice that spoke of years of pipe-smoking. He was peering at Han suspiciously.

The crusader was used to suspicion, but he had no time for it. "I need to speak with the heroes of Bastion's Keep immediately. I have news for them."

"Oh, well now. D'yeh think that news can wait a bit, lad? They're in no condition to be off fightin' someone else's battles at present," the smith told him. Han felt as if he were under intense scrutiny; he didn't care for such a feeling much.

Narrowing his eyes, he picked the smith up by a fistful of leather apron; to his credit, the man didn't seem scared, only raising his brows. "I have no time for these _antics_ , blacksmith, and neither does Westmarch," Han snarled.

"Put Haedrig down before you hurt yourself," came a voice from behind him. A low voice. Weary and with a tone of warning, but also a hint of amusement. Han turned to face the man speaking to him, lifting a brow.

And then he promptly _dropped_ the blacksmith, blinking in surprise at just how far _down_ he had to look to meet the newcomer's eyes. "...Erm." Was this small, robe-wearing fellow even fully _grown_?

The young man rolled his eyes and folded his arms as he leaned casually against a support beam. "So what is it that Westmarch needs? And sit down before you fall down, you look as if you've been riding for days."

"I... have." Akarat's mercy, how did a mere boy - from Xiansai, by the look of him - get all the way out to Bastion's Keep on his own? He was _tiny_! And scrawny to boot, which only made him look smaller still. "Where are the men who saved the keep?"

There was a sort of _presence_ about the boy as he narrowed his eyes dangerously, and Han realized just how wrong his first impression had been. "You're looking at one of them." And with a flick of his wrist, the boy conjured a gleaming, ethereal blade in midair from out of _nowhere_ and it flew off a ways to slice an unlit torch on the wall in half.

The boy was a mage. A powerful one, at that; there were no incantations, and he didn't have runes drawn all over himself and his clothing. As he snapped his fingers, the blade disappeared with a _fwip_ and a brief little spark of arcane light; Han could only blink and stare.

"Now," the wizard said, cricking his neck and settling back into leaning against the beam. "Who are you, and why does Westmarch have need of my services?"

Han took a deep breath and let it out. "I am Hanquai, and I bring grave tidings. Though you may not believe them."

"I stood against the Lord of Terror at the Pinnacle of Heaven. _Try me_."

"Death," he said. "Death has come to Westmarch."

The wizard tilted his head and frowned for a minute. "...That's going to need explaining."

Han couldn't help but smirk grimly. "I _did_ say you might have trouble believing it."

\---

An hour later, Hanquai had been urged to sit down on one of Haedrig's (the smith from before) anvils, and given a cup of coffee by a tiny blonde woman named Eirena. He had explained the predicament anew every time someone else had come to join them, and soon there was a fairly large gathering that had formed around the smithy to listen to him.

The wizard, whose name was Li and who preferred to be called a _wizard_ over being called a _mage_ , was trying to keep a stern facade going, but as Han learned more of the young man's expressions, he was able to see the worry for the lives of others gnawing at the poor boy behind that frown.

Kormac, a burly, short-brown-haired templar with a large, powerful frame, had needed to sit down the moment he'd heard the news; he was clasping his hands together and clenching them tightly to keep them from shaking. Han guessed that the templar was a Westmarch native, both by his accent and his unfocused, haunted look.

Haedrig quietly smoked a pipe as he listened, looming over the gathering like an overprotective father. He had a grim frown, but nothing about him said that he had any personal investment in Westmarch's fate. However, it was abundantly clear just how much he cared for the group's members; Han caught a glimpse of the smith wandering over to Kormac and giving the shaken templar a pat on the shoulder, and heard a murmur of _yeh all right there, lad?_ which was answered with a nod from Kormac.

Eirena, the previously noted small blonde woman, looked distinctly out of place. She was obviously a magic user by how she was stirring her tea without actually touching the spoon, but she didn't have the same sort of commanding presence Li did. Although she had a look of general concern, it was more for her friends than any sort of attatchment to... anyplace at all, really. If anything, she seemed detatched from the world as a whole.

The lot of them, along with the doddering old jeweler with a gleam in his eye, Covetous Shen, and the gruff war veteran Captain Haile, who seemed downright _eager_ to get into the fight, were an eclectic bunch to say the least. Overall, Han liked them. They were good people, with honest souls. He'd ended up shortening his name in introductions to just Han instead of Hanquai due to an overall difficulty people had in pronouncing it, but that was a minor quibble.

In the grand scheme, even as his body ached from days of riding hard to get to the keep, the crusader was glad he came. It had been the right decision, he told himself with no small measure of relief. These were exactly the sorts of people who could, and _would_ , give Westmarch their best effort.

According to the others, however, there were still two missing. A rogue - a _thief_ and a _scoundrel_ by Kormac's descriptions, and a person whom Li seemed to get an odd little frown at the mention of - named Lyndon, and a demon hunter who went by Ander. The hunter, apparently, was resting; the rogue was keeping watch over him while he slept.

Demon hunters... They were supposedly _survivors_ , from what Hanquai knew. Men and women who had a personal vendetta against all demons. Some thought them to be harbingers of doom, but the few that the crusader had met had been perfectly reasonable people.

"--are you sure you're not still feverish?" came a voice from down the hall a ways. Han furrowed his brows and stood, not recognizing it. "Something doesn't always have to be _wrong_ , you know. You're allowed a bit of _rest_ from time to time!"

A towering figure burst into the great hall, the door to it from below swinging open so hard that it slammed into the wall with a rattling of old hinges. The figure was that of a man, tall and slim and bandaged; he was _much_ too thin, to be honest, but there was an undeniable ferocity about him like that of a lone wolf in the wild. He had long, choppy, unkempt black hair, and the dark circles under his eyes only accentuated his shining grey-green irises, glinting like a storm on the horizon.

The stranger was ragged, bruised, and in clear need of a shave, as well as a meal or two, but for a moment Han had a hard time taking his eyes off of the taller man. He almost didn't notice the ratlike fellow with slicked-back dark brown hair and a ridiculous moustache blundering in right alongside.

Li cleared his throat, breaking the sudden silence. "Ander. It's good to see you're, well, up--"

Han blinked rapidly. " _Ander_?" He gestured to the gaunt, wild-looking figure that had just entered the hall. " _This_ is the demon hunter you spoke of?"

"Seeing as I'm the only one _present_ at the moment, probably," the hunter replied drily; his voice was rough and gravelly, but his tightly controlled, calm tone was a far cry from his appearance. Then he met Han's gaze unflinchingly, with only a flick of his eyes to indicate that he'd given the crusader a quick once-over of an assessment. "A bit pale for a paladin, aren't you?"

Han's eyebrows raised. "If I _were_ a paladin," he aknowledged, "but I'm not." He couldn't help feeling a bit proud as he continued, "I am a _crusader_... but that matters little. I come with news from Westmarch; the aid of the men who helped save Bastion's Keep is desperately needed."

The demon hunter frowned slightly. "Westmarch can usually handle its own problems, and often it's best to let it." Spoken like someone who knew from experience, Han noted. "Why does the city require our _aid_?"

Han sucked in a breath, and told the taller man just about the same thing he'd told the wizard before.

"...Well _that's_ not a very good explanation at _all_ , is it?" the ratlike man piped up after a moment's consideration.

 


	2. Prelude to a Nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Little moments in the lull before the storm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to finish everything else I had on my plate before I tackled this, even though I know exactly what I want it to fill in. Since I added in details to the overall plot in the two Kormac fics, I wanted to make a nod to them. To me it makes sense that Lyndon just MIGHT want to gloss over these bits; to him, healing is something to stay well out of the way for. It just tends to be unpleasant and messy and much too clinical for his tastes, and he'd rather load up on potions than listen to Kormac prattling about the light and faith every time he has to get a papercut mended.

"Fine. We'll go with you to Westmarch."

Li's declaration startled the group that had sat around the table to listen to Han's tales, though the reason seemed to be more about _who_ had said it than what had actually been _said_. Several glances were thrown Ander's way, but the demon hunter said nothing; Han could tell quite clearly that something had caused an implicit change in leadership. Probably the same _something_ that had led to the hunter having to sit down and Kormac fretting over him while forcing him to eat a bowl of watered-down stew.

"But I think I speak for all of us when I say that we still need another day or so to recover from the last battle," Li continued, shooting a pointed glare at Ander, who ignored it. "We're useless to Westmarch if we cannot fight. You could use another day of rest as well, Hanquai. It can't have been an easy ride to get here."

Han smirked faintly. Oh, the little wizard thought himself so superior just because he could pronouce such an exotic name. Or maybe he just felt the need to confirm it to himself as much as everyone around him that he could do things they couldn't. Two could play at that game. "Fair enough, Li-Tzu. I could indeed make use of a good night's sleep, if there are any beds available," he aknowledged. On a whim, he lifted a brow and grinned suggestively at the young mage.

It was _quite_ gratifying to see Li bristle at the implication, though the wizard's tone didn't change when he spoke. "The keep is running on a skeleton crew and has been since we arrived. There are enough beds and bedrolls for over a thousand men, but there are only three hundred present. Take your pick."

Tempting as it was to say _what about yours_ , he didn't much like the prospect of having to defend himself to keep from being blasted into dust. "Then you have my thanks," he said, and left it at that.

At about that point, he turned towards Ander again just in time to see the hunter pushing Kormac away with a cold glare and an _I'll be fine_ ; it looked as if the recovering hunter was seriously considering stabbing the templar with a fork. He heard Li click his tongue disapprovingly in the background, and smiled to himself at a sudden notion that the only thing holding the wizard back from fretting just as badly was tact.

"You shouldn't be up and about, Ander. Your wounds have barely healed," Kormac insisted, hesitating a few feet away like he desperately _wanted_ to do something but couldn't. "At least let me have a look at them."

"I've had worse," the hunter said curtly, edging another inch or two away from his worried friend.

Han decided that it would probably be best to intervene before someone's eye got gouged out with a spoon. "Perhaps I could help. I know a thing or two about healing." An understatement, but if he were to give them a full resume it'd sound like boasting.

Both Kormac and Ander looked up, the former looking insulted and the latter with a brow raised inquisitively. "Erm, we have it taken care of, thanks..." Kormac said, sizing up the crusader anew.

Before either of them could say anything more, Li stepped in with a broad smile. "I think it's a _wonderful_ idea. Anything to get our esteemed hunter back on his feet faster." Han felt a hand at his back gently urging him toward the pair, and immediately he knew the wizard had other motives in mind. At least one of them was probably having to do with getting the crusader to stop flirting with him.

"An excellent point, my diminuitive friend-- _oof_ ," In spite of the wizard's size, a well-aimed elbow to the ribs still hurt. Short jokes were right out, then.

Kormac looked more than a little put out by the implication that he might need _help_ with healing, but after seeming to have an internal debate, the templar vacated his seat near the hunter and gestured for Han to take his place with an incoherent sort of low mumble that might've been words at one point, had it made the journey from Kormac's mind to his tongue completely unscathed. Ander was eyeing Han warily, having paused in his eating and lifted his head to do so, as the crusader sat down heavily in the newly emptied seat.

They spent a good minute just peering at each other like that, Han with a mild, good-natured smirk and Ander with a slightly pinched and wary frown. The crudader could feel the tension that had come over their corner of the hall, from the ratlike man - whom he'd been told was the previously mentioned thief Lyndon - watching in the shadow of a nearby doorway like he expected Han to end up dead and lootable, to Li frowning as his eyes darted between the pair seated at the table, to Kormac fidgeting and looking worried as he stood a few meters away. Eirena was off a ways speaking with Haedrig while pretending that she wasn't glancing at them every few seconds, meanwhile Haedrig was pointedly ignoring the whole mess.

If Han had to guess - and he did, because no one was outright telling him all that much - he'd say that they were all a little bit _afraid_ of the demon hunter.

Ander spoke first, cutting through the tension with his dry, unenthused tone. "Are you going to tell me that I should go back to bed as well?" he asked.

"It depends on what I may find after I've examined you," Han replied, not the least bit discouraged, " _if_ you'll allow it."

"Huh." The hunter's brows lifted, and he straightened with a slight cringe, setting his utensils down. When his gaze fell on the crusader once more, Han felt as if _he_ were the one being examined. "Fair enough."

Han grinned, and shot a look around the room that was just a bit smugly triumphant. Had it never occurred to them to ask for _permission_ from the demon hunter before doing anything?

\---

"You're running a slight fever still," Han said to start off with, after having noticed it in the process of taking off the hunter's bandages as the two of them sat in a room down the hall. Han was in a chair, Ander was perched on the edge of a bed with his long legs crossed in front of him. "Nothing life-threatening, but your body is still obviously fighting something. Sickness, likely. Have you felt ill?"

Ander shook his head. "No," he replied, his expression having gone back to something neutral and bland. Unreadable to most, Han guessed. But the tension in the hunter's shoulders told another story entirely; from the way Ander moved as little as possible, and the tightness in the muscles of his neck and jaw, the crusader could see that his newest patient was in a fair amount of pain.

When the bandages came off, Han could see why. The man's already scarred torso was a mess of bruises and discoloring. Even the slightest touch made Ander flinch away reflexively and suck in a sharp, quiet breath through his nose. Considering Kormac had probably already done his best to heal what damage had been done, it was a wonder that the hunter had survived whatever had caused those injuries.

The crusader must have been gawking, because he was shocked from his thoughts by Ander's voice. "I've had worse," he said. Then, in the quiet tone of a confession, he added, "...but not often."

Han set his jaw and nodded. "What caused this?" he asked, returning to his examination. Being a healer, he was thankfully used to keeping things clinical; it was quite easy for him to detatch himself from the intimacy of having to feel for broken bones that were hidden under muscle and flesh. Ander's breathing picked up as he sucked in air audibly through his nose, but that could be from embarassment _or_ pain, and the crusader paid it little mind.

"At the Pinnacle of Heaven, during the last battle," the demon hunter began, gritting his teeth. "Diablo sent us into a... _realm_ of terror made manifest." He had to pause for a moment to let out a slow, calming breath, closing his eyes. "...We were forced to face shades of our own deepest fears. I was... distracted, long enough to be caught."

"Mm," Han aknowledged absently. If there were time, the best option for the long-term would probably be to re-break the hunter's bones and set them properly, but there wasn't. Certainly Ander wouldn't approve of having his ribs bound up so tightly that they couldn't shift while he was healing, rendering him useless in the fight for Westmarch. "You should be dead," he noted with a faint smirk, while going over the options in his mind.

Ander snorted. "So I'm told." He looked down to the crusader's hands upon seeming to realize that the examination was probably complete, then back up to Han's face to scrutinize him. "Is something wrong?"

With his smirk taking a guilty turn, Han met the hunter's eyes unflinchingly. "There are two options, but I'm afraid neither is pleasant. Especially given the circumstances."

The demon hunter gave him a flatly annoyed look in return. "Spare me your courtesies, crusader. Out with it."

"Well, either I can heal you fully now, with your bones crooked as they are, and put you through a severe and arthritic sort of pain for what could possibly be the rest of your life, _or_ ," and there Han stopped, going over whether he should even _say_ the next one since it was sort of absolutely _insane_ , "...I bring the templar in to help so that we might re-break everything, set it all to rights again, and the two of us heal it all in one session."

Incredibly, _impossibly_ , the demon hunter only took a few seconds to consider before responding. "...It takes several days to reach Westmarch by caravan. Would the ache have subsided by then?"

"From what? Having your bones smashed to bits and repaired again over the course of a single _night_?" Han looked disbelieving when the hunter actually nodded, calm as could be. "I would give it at least a week, possibly two, depending on how good of a healer that templar is."

"Then I would suggest getting Eirena to aid in it as well," Ander said simply.

Just what was this man _made_ of? "You're completely mad," the crusader felt the need to note.

The corner of Ander's lips quirked upwards in a mirthless half-smile. "I know."

 


End file.
